bright lights
by Nellen
Summary: Why are these lights so bright? --olettecentric, roxette.


_bright lights_

"You gotta help me out. It's all a blur last night."  
"Why are these lights so bright?"

- - x

Olette vaguely remembered what happened.

She remembered bright, bright, _bright _lights flashing and disappearing, swirling around her head, making her dizzy to the point where everything blurs into one big, messy and beautiful picture (_so pretty_…). It was like ecstasy, with the pretty colors spinning her mind around, but she couldn't take it anymore because it was just too _bright_ (yet she still looked at this picture). She remembered feeling glitter on her face, fall onto her body, glitter thrown in the air (like stardust). She remembered laughter (seems like _drunk_ laughter), the clinking of coins, cat-calls and whoops, shuffling of cards, and a couple of "I dos" as well as moans and shrieks of pleasure in the night. Faces blurred past her, faces with pretty blue, cerulean eyes, faces painted beautifully with different pretty colors (like those beautiful lights) and melted into another pretty, yet oh-so horrifying, portrait of just blank and smudged faces.

They're only flashes, the memories that are too broken to even put back together again. It's a film with many (too many) skipped scenes playing like a broken record before her pretty emeralds.

And now, she's aching all over. It's a struggle for her to move in whatever she's lying down in and for her to even think (it's too cloudy, muddy, hard to perceive) because of this massive hangover. Opening her eyes was a bad move on her part for it was just too, too bright for her. Putting a hand to her eyes, she tiredly rubbed them, hoping that it will wake them up. She slowly opened them and squinted in the bright sunlight that streamed from the window. She propped herself up with her elbows and tried to get her head upright, but (oh no) her head (hurts like a bitch).

It's upsetting (don't get too upset, _dear_) that she can't remember. She doesn't have blurred nights – she _never_ _ever ever __**ever **_has these "memoryless" nights (this is one of many). Because Olette's a good girl. (No, she never was.) She spends her time studying, helping out friends, running errands, doing her jobs effortlessly (drinking, partying, waking up and not _remembering anything_). She's neat (messy), responsible (irresponsible), and everyone likes her for her kindness and intelligence (**loves **her beautiful face and curvy body, boys and girls). She makes love (fucks) to the one she loves (she probably fucked many people, pretty-eyed boys and lustful girls, in her "memoryless" nights).

Good girls (stop telling yourself that) never have these horrible (wonderful) "memoryless" nights.

She feels heat coming off of a body that just rolled on top of her. Her eyes open to have blonde locks brushing her forehead and the haunting blues that she remembers from last night staring into her soul. Air stops coming to her and she feels like she can't breathe anymore (talk about eyes that leave her _breathless_). Her eyes flutter close as she feels his lips on hers. They travel along her jaw line, all the way to her ear.

"Good morning, Olette, my wife," she hears Roxas whisper into her ear.

With just that sentence, the memories rush back to her, hitting her like a train (she's a wreck, a beautiful one).

She remembers getting frustrated with her boring life (she hates this double life, good girl by day, dangerous and tempting at night) and telling this to her best friend (now husband) with these pretty blue sparkles who's now on top of her. She remembers him saying, "Let's run away, far far _far _away where no one can stop us, where you can be free to laugh, cry, and have fun, Lettie." She remembers liking this and adding on to his (reckless yet extremely fun) idea with, "Let's get married." She remembers his shocked expression which melted into a mischievous grin.

No. Olette's not a good girl. She's not going to live that life anymore. She's free to be whomever she wants to be.

Now Roxas is on the bottom and she's on top. (Only good girls are submissive, but she's not good anymore - wait, she never was.) She smirks when his back arches and his eyes become cloudy with lust.

"Good morning, Roxas, my hubby," she says coyly before she thrusts her hips against his, feeling victorious when she hears him moan.

She's now Olette, the girl who makes reckless decisions, who has many "memoryless" nights, who's hitched with her best friend (they don't harbor feelings for each other for now).

Good girls don't survive in this world where bright bright _bright _lights blind them, causing them to stop looking because it's just too bright.

- - x

Okay people. Short drabble, yeah. I'm absolutely in love with the song, "Waking Up in Vegas," and those two lines of lyrics at the top and the way she sings them. They served me as inspiration/kind of prompts. I'm not exactly happy with this, but I love Olette and I love the beautiful world of what goes on at night in cities like NYC, Vegas, LA, whichever. I also love the people that live in this beautiful world, like, they're beautiful disasters and writing about them is so... fun? I guess. DOES ANYONE UNDERSTAND ME!? I don't think I understand myself right now. I was kind of inspired by pixie paramount's works that involved the Big City!AU.

So like, this is like... Olette's downfall... ish?

AND NO. ALL THE FEMALES WHO READ THIS SHOULD NOT BECOME LIKE OLETTE HERE. I'm not encouraging it! NO. Hmph.


End file.
